


Definitely Not Sick

by ChameleonCircuit



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rhodestead - Freeform, Sick Fic, Sickfic, Vomiting, acid reflux, caretaker will halstead, emeto, sick connor rhodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 13:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20026864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonCircuit/pseuds/ChameleonCircuit
Summary: “‘M not even sick,” Connor mutters thickly, but hangs his head over the toilet anyway as a hiccup rolls through his body.He heaves painfully this time, throat aching, tears forming in his eyes, back arching into Will’s hand with the effort, and a voice in the back of his head tells him that maybe he is sick after all, even though it came out of nowhere, because in all his life, this has never happened. He’s had the odd reflux attack, but never like this, never a swirling nausea that leaves him gagging emptily over a public toilet, sweat coating his forehead.





	Definitely Not Sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnxiousCoffee (TheHallowedAngel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHallowedAngel/gifts).

> idk I never would have revisited this if it weren't for you, Charles, so of course this is for you x

Connor’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt as he listens to Will talk about his brother, about Kol, about whatever’s popped into his head. He loves seeing Will so happy after there being a dark cloud hanging over the both of them for so long. They make each other better, and he’s sure, if this goes well, if it continues to go well, they could be good for each other for a very long time.

He stifles a burp, lowering his fork, and before he can think anything of it, there’s a gush of half-digested food coming back up his throat. It’s panic he feels as his mouth floods with the acrid taste of vomit, because although he knows he’s not sick, although he knows his body has just chosen the absolute worst moment to have a violent attack of acid reflux, he doesn’t want Will to notice anything’s happened.

He swallows hard, trying not to wince against the thought of what he just swallowed back down, the bitter tang coating his tongue, his teeth, his cheeks. He takes a swig of water, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing it, nodding to whatever Will was saying even though he stopped paying attention the moment the panic set in.

He takes a calming breath, mouth still a little too wet, a little too bitter-tasting, and hopes another mouthful of food will help, but the moment he swallows he knows he’s mistaken. That mouthful doesn’t even make it down before half his meal is climbing back up his throat, and he stands abruptly, cutting Will off mid-sentence, and beelines for the bathroom.

For a moment, Will just sits, completely stunned, face burning as he realises everyone’s staring at him, the entire restaurant having fallen silent. He slowly stands and follows Connor to the bathroom, a sense of guilt surrounding the action, because if Connor is sick, surely he should have noticed?

He knows which cubicle Connor’s in the second he’s entered the bathroom, the sound of liquid splashing against liquid leading the way. He stops at the door as Connor gags unproductively, not sure if he would want him near despite how badly he wants to comfort him.

“You okay?” He asks quietly, wincing at the way his voice echoes anyway.

Connor shudders, gasping out a small, “Yeah,” before he gags again, this time ending with a gurgling retch as he throws up again. “Sorry.”

To hell with it, Will thinks, and settles behind Connor in the stall, hand resting on his back.

Connor shudders, a small burp slipping out, and he stifles another gag as he reaches up to flush the toilet, really not wanting Will to witness that on their first date, and tries to push himself up off the ground, but he can already feel his mouth flooding with saliva again, vomit crawling up his throat again, and no amount of swallowing seems to be pushing it away.

“Just let it out,” Will says softly, as though he could read Connor’s mind.

“‘M not even sick,” Connor mutters thickly, but hangs his head over the toilet anyway as a hiccup rolls through his body.

He heaves painfully this time, throat aching, tears forming in his eyes, back arching into Will’s hand with the effort, and a voice in the back of his head tells him that maybe he is sick after all, even though it came out of nowhere, because in all his life, this has never happened. He’s had the odd reflux attack, but never like this, never a swirling nausea that leaves him gagging emptily over a public toilet, sweat coating his forehead.

Once he’s given in fully, it seems to come in wave after wave, bringing up everything his stomach could hold until he’s left dry heaving and miserable.

“I think you’re empty,” Will says softly, and Connor nods in response.

He feels absolutely spent, but the taste is still stuck in his mouth, the smell filling the air around them, and the combination has him retching again anyway, bringing up a mouthful of frothy bile and nothing more.

“How about I get you home,” Will suggests, running his fingers into the back of Connor’s hair. Connor nods again, sighing as Will’s hand leaves. “Do you want to stay here while I settle our bill, or do you want me to help you clean up and then wait in the car?”

Connor feels tears spring to his eyes at the tenderness of Will’s words, suddenly exhausted and so, so embarrassed.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” Connor says weakly, pushing himself back as he reaches up to flush again.

He waits until he hears Will’s footsteps disappear before he hauls himself up off the ground and over to the sink. He wishes he had toothpaste or mouthwash or something to take away the taste that threatens to have him heaving again, but he swallows down the feeling as he washes his mouth out and splashes water on his face.

He takes a few deep breaths, trying to look a lot more composed than he feels before he exits the bathroom, head down, avoiding eye contact.

When he gets to the car, Will’s already there waiting for him. He tries a smile, but judging by the look Will’s giving him, it’s more of a grimace than anything else.

“Here,” he holds out his hand. “They had mints at the bar.”

Connor takes it with a meek, “Thanks,” and pops it in his mouth as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“You could have cancelled if you weren’t feeling well,” Will says as he starts the car, glancing at Connor. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Connor shakes his head in response. “I felt fine.”

“Okay, but if you were feeling sick at the restaurant—“

“No, I felt fine,” Connor cuts him off with a sigh. “Up until that moment I was going to throw up, I felt completely fine.”

Will frowns, shooting Connor another glance. “And now?”

Connor shrugs, glancing out the window, still embarrassed. “The mint helps.”

It’s not a lie at all. With the taste of mint overtaking everything else, his stomach feels calm again, if not a little sore from the effort. In fact, if it weren’t for the dull ache from straining in his gut and the rawness in his throat, it almost felt as though nothing had happened at all.

“You tell me if you need me to pull over,” Will says quietly, and, unexpectedly to Connor, reaches across the console to take his hand.

“I’m fine,” Connor says with a small laugh, giving Will’s hand a small squeeze. “I don’t know what that was, but I feel fine now I’m out of there.”

“Okay,” Will laughs in response, but he doesn’t withdraw his hand, and for the rest of the drive their fingers are linked, Connor’s thumb brushing lightly across the back of Will’s hand.

When they pull up outside Connor’s apartment, he’s reluctant to let go.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date,” he says quietly, ducking his head.

“You didn’t,” Will insists, and Connor shoots him a disbelieving look. “Okay, okay,” he relents with a laugh, “it wasn’t ideal, but I was having fun before that. And this...this is nice.”

“This is nice,” Connor agrees with a soft smile, squeezing Will’s hand for emphasis. “Do you wanna come up?”

The words are out of his mouth before he’s thought about them, but he barely has time to feel nervous because Will’s grinning instantly, nodding.

“I’d love to.”

* * *

When Connor first wakes up, he’s disoriented, far too warm and uncomfortable. When the solid body beneath him moves, forcing him to move with it, it takes his sleep-fogged brain a moment to realise the lurching in his stomach is sending a sticky combination of beer and snacks up his throat.

Connor moves faster than he would have thought possible considering he’d just woken up, hand clamped over his mouth as he staggers to the bathroom, swallowing the sick back down, which only makes his stomach lurch again.

He crashes to his knees in front of the toilet so hard it hurts, letting the vomit he can’t quite force back down spill into the toilet. He gags again, whole body lurching with the movement, and though he can feel the beer and popcorn sloshing around his stomach, nothing else seems to want to come up.

He groans, resting his head on his arms over the toilet, trying to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. He’s shaking uncontrollably, mouth flooding with saliva, and after one swallow makes his nausea worse, he opts to let his mouth hang open, saliva slowly dripping into the toilet bowl.

“Connor?” Will calls tentatively from the doorway. “You okay?”

Connor burps in response before retching painfully, the contents of his stomach crawling halfway up his throat before going down again. He burps again, groaning when it does nothing to ease his discomfort.

“Just let it up,” Will says gently, settling beside him on the floor to place a hand on his back.

“I’m t—“ he’s cut off by a hiccup that brings up a torrent of sick, and he can barely catch his breath before he’s throwing up again, throat burning.

“There you go,” Will soothes, rubbing his back gently.

Connor hates that Will’s seeing him like this, but he can’t deny it feels good to not be alone. He’s about to say as such when his whole body lurches with a heave, followed by another, then another, until he’s left dry-heaving, nothing left to bring up.

“Breathe,” Will reminds him.

Connor takes in a deep, shaky breath as Will reaches over him to flush the toilet, and a shudder runs through his body as he gags unproductively again.

“There’s nothing left,” Connor groans, collapsing back into Will’s arms.

“I know,” Will soothes, running his fingers through Connor’s hair.

“So why won’t my stomach get the memo?”

As if on cue, he gags again, and Will eases him back up and over the toilet just in time for him to bring up a mouthful of discoloured bile. He stays there, head hanging over the toilet, eyes closed, Will holding him up more than he was actually holding himself up, long after his body’s stopped trying to purge everything from his system.

“Connor?” Will asks gently, and Connor grunts in response. “How about we get you to bed.”

Connor nods and lets Will ease him up off the floor and into his bedroom. 

He’s careful as he removes Connor’s shirt, sliding another one over his head before getting him settled under the covers and when he moves to leave, Connor grabs his hand. “Don’t go.”

“I’m just going to get you a glass of water and something in case you need to be sick again.”

Connor reluctantly releases his grip in favour of curling in on himself, hands clutched over his stomach.

When Will returns with the water and a trash can, Connor is fast asleep, sweat coating his forehead, body still trembling minutely.

Will sighs, toeing his shoes off before settling on the other side of the bed, careful not to jostle or touch as he eases himself under the covers. He’s never spent the night before, but he can’t quite manage to feel any sense of guilt or unease about inviting himself into Connor’s bed while he’s asleep. Not when all Will wants to do is look after him and make sure he’s okay.

\--

Will wakes to the sound of Connor dry heaving beside him, body half hanging off the bed, face buried in the trash can beside it. He doesn’t even think before reaching across to rub his back, scooting a little closer, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Fuck,” Connor gasps, a shudder running through his whole body before he hiccups.

“Did you drink some water?” Will asks, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Why the fuck do you think my head’s in a trash can right now?” Connor snaps, voice shaking with ragged breaths.

Unphased, Will continues rubbing Connor’s back soothingly, and after a few moments of stuttered, heavy breathing, Connor hiccups again, and a torrent of liquid splashes into the trash can.

“You should know better,” Will says softly, realising Connor must have drank the entire glass without testing how his stomach would take it first.

“Shut up,” Connor bites out around a barely-suppressed gag, and before Will could even think to respond, he was retching again.

“It’s okay,” Will soothes, not sure what else he should say or do. “You’re okay.”

“I’m fucking sick,” Connor mutters after an extended pause, lifting his head tentatively. “Of course I’m not fucking okay.”

Will laughs before he can think better of it, but the glare Connor sends him in response is worth it, because at least he’s well enough to be pissed, even if he clearly doesn’t feel well enough to stop hovering over the trash can.

“Get comfortable,” Will says gently, patting the empty space beside him.

After a seconds hesitation, Connor complies, settling back under the covers. For a while they’re silent aside from the occasional audible shudder from Connor, but eventually Connor’s desire to be held wins over his hatred of Will seeing him in such a messy state, and he shifts closer, breathing out a sigh of relief when Will’s arms circle around him, pulling him in close.

“So much for not sick, huh?” Will comments lightly before pressing a kiss into Connor’s hair.

“Shut up,” Connor sighs, burying his face into Will’s chest.

For a moment, it was comfortable, blissfull, and Connor’s body seemed to stop trembling, but then the smell of sick hit Will’s nose and he sighed, reluctantly pulling back from their embrace.

“Don’t go,” Connor mutters, sleep already clouding his brain and slurring his speech.

“I’m just gonna clean your makeshift bucket,” Will says gently, pressing a kiss to Connor’s forehead. “I’ll be back.”

Once again, when he returns, Connor’s fast asleep, curled up on his side, face pressed into the pillow. When Will slides back under the covers, Connor moves toward him instinctively, small whimper slipping past his lips, and Will’s sure his heart melts completely.

He knows he has to get some liquids into Connor, and something to eat if he can manage it, but he figures all of that can wait for just a few more moments of this. He tells himself it’s because Connor could use the rest before Will goes all doctor-mode on him, but really, it’s just as much for himself, because it feels nice, in a weird sort of way, just laying here with Connor in his arms. Despite the circumstances, it feels right, and he hopes he’ll get to do it again when Connor’s well.


End file.
